


Unwind

by whereismygarden



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: BDSM, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle’s been working on a special project all week, and Rum decides to help her unwind on Friday afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwind

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this is my first try at BDSM porn. I’ve dipped my toes in before, but this is doing the cannonball into the deep end. Dom!Gold, with all sorts of D/s material. Everything is consensual, but just: take note, it's not for everyone. This is also technically an AU, but that's not really relevant.

                Belle had been complaining all week about how much work went into redoing the entire research section of Storybrooke’s library: setting up all the new computers, integrating them with the old, cruddy server, directing all the children who needed the books being re-catalogued for school projects to her office for help, and putting up the new volumes. Rum had simply murmured in sympathy, made all their dinners, and watched her hunch over her keyboard late into the night, trying to enter data so everything could be ready in time for the anniversary of the library’s opening, fifty years ago.

                So when he called her office on Friday during her lunch and told her he wanted to help her unwind that night, she wasn’t exactly surprised, but she hardly had the time to get too excited about the anticipation in his voice, and she put it to the back of her mind all afternoon while she worked. It was only when she was walking up the driveway that she felt trepidation and excitement build in her stomach and between her legs.

                He was waiting nearly at the door when she stepped inside and kicked her shoes off. There weren’t going to be kisses and hugs before they started tonight: his eyes were getting that focus that meant she was going to be whatever he wanted tonight.

                “Better use the bathroom, now, Belle, before we get started,” he warned softly, and drew a gentle hand down the side of her face. She knew the last soft touch of the night when she felt it, and shivered, and obeyed.

                The moment she faced him again, in her blue dress and now-bare feet, they began. He drew her collar from his jacket and buckled it carefully around her neck, thumb lingering over the little tag with her name on it. That always made her feel so small, in a delicious, prickling way: she was his dog when they did this, his mongrel bitch, and his fingers stroking her neck already had her breathing faster.

                “Dogs don’t wear clothes, Belle. Get naked.” His voice was cold, a firm command, and she scrambled to unhook her dress and tug it over her head, throwing it to the ground. Her bra and panties followed, and she was naked but for the collar. Rum’s eyes wandered over her body, then he made a tsking sound. “And dogs stay on all fours. Hand and knees.”

                She knelt, leaving her head bowed, waiting on his instructions. He simply stood over her for a long while, silently, and she glanced up, only to have him nudge her in the side with his cane.

                “Tonight’s rules: don’t get off your knees unless I order you. Keep your eyes down like a good girl and you’ll get rewarded. Don’t speak unless I ask you to. If you want my attention, you can whine like the bitch dog you are.” His words had blood rushing to her cheeks and between her legs. Insults always made her wet and squirmy: being called his slut, his bitch, his toy, knowing deep down he loved her more than anything, was intoxicating. “Disobey me and you won’t come for days.” The threat—he was in earnest—had her whimpering and rubbing her head against his leg. “You’re a good girl, Belle. But there are consequences for bad behavior.”

                He walked into the living room, settling into his chair, and Belle crawled after and crouched at his feet, waiting.

                “You can take my shoes off, pet.” His voice was a little gentler than a few moments ago, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off his feet and the laces of his shoes as she eased them off. She could feel his eyes traveling over the pale skin of her back, but she simply crouched and waited. Her master liked taunting her, liked looking at her while she was kneeling. “I’ve been on my feet at the shop all day,” he continued, prodding her hands with his left foot, and she needed no more prompting than that, to tug up the right leg of his trousers and wrap her hands around his crooked ankle. She did this most nights, whether they were playing or not, and she winced to feel the tightness in the tendons. She rubbed the muscle of his foot and moved the joint as gently as she could: her hands were practiced, accustomed, even if they were usually side by side on the couch and clothed, and it didn’t take long for her to restore some flexibility.

                “Good job,” he sighed, giving her a quick pat on the head. She tried to lean into his touch, but his hands were already out of her reach, and she couldn’t follow. She wasn’t to look up tonight.

                A few minutes later, after his tie and jacket and waistcoat had been shed in whispers of cloth that she could only hear, he reached down and took a handful of her hair in hand, keeping her gaze firmly directed towards the floor.

                “Time to suck me off, Belle.” She made a noise to indicate her eagerness as best as she could and let him draw her forward, push her face into his groin. “No hands, Belle. Get my belt undone and my trousers open with your mouth.” She sighed, wondering if she could do it, and contemplated what was in front of her. A few moments later, his cane smacked her backside. “Do as you’re told and get my cock in your mouth, lazy girl.”

                It took some effort, but she managed to open his belt and trousers with her teeth and lips, the bitter taste of leather and brass filling her mouth, then drag the waist of his boxers down to free his cock. He was only partially hard, and his hand tightened on her hair.

                “Can’t even get me hard, can you, Belle? All trembling and wet like a little slut from my words, and my cock’s not even all the way hard.” He pulled her forward, ungentle, and pushed her down onto him. He’d done this plenty of times, and she took him in her mouth easily, sucking at him and trying to move her mouth up and down. He smacked her again, cane making her ass sting. “I’ll set the pace, Belle. You just suck where I put your mouth.” So she did, let him pull her hair to raise her head and let him push her down so his growing cock nearly made her gag as she let him into her throat.

                 He didn’t moan, but his grip loosened as she kept sucking at him, and _she_ moaned around his thickness, at the sweaty, salty taste of the precum she felt on her tongue. He wasn’t gentle: he never was, and she did enjoy the brief fear of nearly choking when he forced her down onto his cock and _held_ her down, made her suck at the base of him while his head pushed past the back of her throat. He always let her breathe when she needed to, pulled her off just enough to let her gasp in air. Tonight he was especially rough, leaving her at the edge of choking or gagging, giving her a sharp slap with his cane whenever she resisted the guidance of his hand.

                When his hips finally began to shake, he jerked her up roughly, taking her mouth off him, and finished on her chest, splashing her breasts with sticky white seed. Belle gasped in surprise, forgetting herself and looking up at him. The light in his eyes when she did was electrifying: she remembered his command the moment she met his eyes, and looked away quickly.

                “Belle,” he chided, dark glee in his voice. “What did I say about keeping your eyes down?” His cane stroked lightly along her spine. “You broke the rules.” She whined, curling down so she was face-to-face with the floor. “Disobedience has to be punished. Either you’re not coming tonight or I’ll have to think of something else.” He set the cane next to his chair and did up his trousers, though he left the belt unbuckled. “Bring me a bottle of the merlot and a glass. You can stand up to reach things in the kitchen, but I want you on your knees the rest of the time.”

                The tag on her collar jingled a little as she made her way to the kitchen, the sound making her flush red with the odd exhilarating shame he could call up in her. She could feel his eyes on her: she wondered if he could see the wetness gathering at her lips from behind. The floor in the kitchen was hard and wooden, uncomfortable against her knees, but she didn’t dare rise until she was at the cabinet. Even then, it was only for a moment, and then she was shuffling back on her knees, staring carefully at the floor. She didn’t want to disappoint him again: she would take whatever punishment he thought necessary, if he would permit her to come tonight. He called her a good girl when she handed the items over, rather absently, and ran a hand through her hair, tugging affectionately, as if she were his dog.

                “Maybe we should go outside,” he mused. “Let everyone see me walk you down the street with a leash. Would that be enough to teach you to obey?” She whimpered in protest—he never would, they never did anything in public—but the idea was horribly shaming. “Storybrooke’s firm yet fair librarian, who has children’s hour every afternoon, with spank marks on her ass and cum drying on her tits.” He rose, walked behind her, and pressed his cane against the cleft of her buttocks. “Led along by quiet Mr. Gold, who runs the pawnshop and keeps to himself.” He picked something off the floor and stepped so his feet were on either side of her torso, but Belle kept staring at the carpet, trembling. There was semen sticking to her, she was wearing a collar, there was rugburn on her knees, and her master was using his discarded tie to blindfold her. And she was getting wetter and wetter, at the soft press of silk at her eyes and the smooth wood against her ass.

                “There,” he soothed. “You don’t get to see at all if you look where you shouldn’t.”

                She wasn’t sure how long it had been, exactly, since he had sprayed her chest with his hot seed, but Belle desperately wished for him to get hard again. She wanted to feel his cock somewhere besides in her mouth, but he didn’t seem in a mood to oblige her. Fingers ran lightly over the curve of her ass, from her back to her thigh, and she spread her legs farther apart at the sensation, turning her hips up. He laughed behind her: _at_ her, at her pathetic eagerness for him.

                “Slut,” he said, casually, as if he were stating fact, and Belle swallowed at his tone, heat spreading between her face and groin. She heard him settle back into his chair, and turned toward the sound. He needed to touch her: she needed his hands, his cock, anything. The words to beg sat at the edge of her tongue: all the words he liked to hear. But he had forbidden her to talk, even to beg him to fuck her. She could whine.

                She could try and wait him out, see how long it took before he went back to her, but he had her at a disadvantage. She was burning up for him, and with her legs spread, the taste of his cock still lingering in her mouth, it would last a long time. And he could look at her, could take whatever pleasure he wanted from the sight of her shaking and breathing hard for him, while she was blind and unfulfilled.

                She whined, the most pathetic sound she’d ever heard herself make, and even if she’d been allowed to, she couldn’t have raised her head. Rum didn’t respond: she could hear him, every so often, take a sip of his wine. She made herself whine again, burning with shame and lust. If he would just—just touch her, it would worth it.

                “Want something, Belle?” She nodded frantically, feeling a strand of hair come down to tickle her face. “Draw your fingers over your chest, get my cum on your fingers, and suck it off. Clean yourself off, and maybe you can talk.” It wasn’t a promise, but she wiped frantically at her neck, collarbones, and breasts, taking up his seed and sucking it carefully off her fingers. She couldn’t see, couldn’t tell if she was getting all of it, and she wanted to please him, do what he ordered. When she paused, chest sticky with her own spit now and the last traces of him, he stilled her with the press of his cane against her back, bowing her so she was nearly face down on the carpet. “No pride,” he mused, a sick, dark enjoyment in his voice making her shiver. “You look like a messy child, like a dog trying to lick itself clean. It’s actually a little pathetic.”

                Belle whined again, hips twitching just slightly at _nothing._ The sneer in his voice had her burning again, where the rush to clean herself off had cooled her a little. She had wanted to beg him to fuck her, but now her desires were running darker. It wouldn’t matter if he didn’t let her talk, and she let loose another whimpering sound.

                “You can have…seven words.” The cane kept her forced to the floor, and she collected her thoughts carefully.

                “Master, please, fuck me, punish me, please—“ she cut herself off, her words trailing into a moan. She dug her fingers into the carpet: he wouldn’t like her touching herself without permission, though she needed to. There was liquid running down the insides of her thighs.

                “Punish you, eh?” He pushed the end of his cane down a little harder, relish in his voice. “Do I punish your filthy begging mouth or your needy little cunt?” Both, she thought desperately, letting him force her all the way to the floor. “You’re making my floor wet, you slut.” He moved: the cane left her back, and his fingers were grasping her collar, tugging gently to back her up. “You’re like a bitch in heat, Belle.” He pressed the back of her head down to the carpet and she could smell and feel the juices from her cunt that had dripped to the carpet. “As for fucking…you only want to come, don’t you? You don’t care about pleasing me, you just want your release.”

                “No, master, let me please you—“ he jerked sharply on the collar, silencing her babbling into the floor.

                “Control yourself,” he said sharply, and the swish and slap of his cane were louder, harder than usual, against her ass. “I didn’t say you could talk.” Belle made the most apologetic sound she could—she did want to please him, tell him she could learn, be good, but speaking again wouldn’t be the way to do it. He stood, leaving her crouched on the floor, and she held still while he ran his cane over her ribs. “I think it’s time to get out our proper toys, hmm?” She heard him walk across the room, lift something that slid softly off a side table. He must have got whatever it was out before she even got home. Belle shivered despite herself: he was going to punish her for disobeying him. She hadn’t quite meant to, either time, but she had, and rules were rules.

                The hiss of leather came just a moment before the sting of little knots biting into her backside, and she yelped and jerked. Usually he would tease her first, run the flogger down her back gently, almost tickling, before he switched her. She bit back a plea and turned it into a moan, turning up her hips, rising onto her hands and knees and crying out with each little sting of the leather. He never hit too hard—she didn’t like more than a little sting, and they both liked it better when her punishment came in the form of humiliation rather than pain.

                The switches stopped, and then he was tugging her onto her knees by her collar, shoving her onto her back. The carpet stung against the little welts she must have on her ass and back, and he was moving again, dragging the tails of the flogger down her belly to slip over her cunt. She whimpered, fingers curling into claws against the carpet, and he twitched his hand, making the little strips of leather whisper against her wet flesh.

                “I think you deserve a little slap on the cunt, don’t you, Belle?” He traced down the insides of her thighs, and she lifted her hips for a moment. “I won’t hurt you, pet, just a little reminder to obey.” She nodded, desperate for any touch, wishing she could see his face. The blow he gave her was so light it wouldn’t even leave marks, but she cried out anyway, jerking her hips up. She needed pressure between her legs, even the dubious pleasure of leather smacking her lower lips and clit. “There,” Rum said, voice smug, and she heard him move away again. “Stay like that, Belle.”

                The sound of metal clinking had her tensing: he was fetching more things from the table. Not seeing was frustrating: it made her hyper-alert for every sound and move he made, made her twitch, made her all too aware of the wet, swollen, aching sensation in her cunt. Rum’s socked feet made soft noises on the carpet, and he crouched slowly next to her, lifting her head and shoulders gently and pressing the edge of what must be his wineglass to her lips.

                “Drink a little, pet,” he tipped the glass and the rich merlot flooded her mouth, wetting her dry tongue and mouth. “Good girl.” His fingers lingered against her throat again, traced the leather collar, and he brushed a thumb over her lips. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, still in a soothing voice, and she lowered her jaw obediently, and heard the clink of metal again. “You know what happens to dogs that are disobedient?” Leather pushed into her mouth. “They get muzzled.” He slipped the little square speaker into her hand—if the switch on top was flipped, the awful noise would let him know if he pushed too far—and she felt the straps against her cheeks and the sides of her head as his fingers buckled it behind her head.

                They had a few gags, and the one he had chosen protruded into her mouth in a distinctly phallic way that had made them both snigger when they ordered it. Now, though, stretched out before him with a fake cock in her mouth, legs wide and eyes bound, she was not laughing. Stretched tight like instrument strings, fragile with need like a paper held before a fire, but not laughing. Rum pushed his good foot under her back and nudged her to turn over: she obeyed hazily, and felt him untie the blindfold.

                The dim light of the living room still had her blinking and wincing, and she was grateful for the firm hand on the back of her hand, keeping her face down.

                “Let’s try this again,” Rum said dangerously. “I can’t have your mouth when you’ve got that in there—and you look like the dirtiest slut like that, pet, like sucking on cocks is your natural state—but there’s the rest of you.” He drew his hand from her head to her neck, down to her shoulder, and palmed her left breast, then gave her nipple a rough pinch, making her shiver and moan against the gag. “And we’ve done nothing with these.” He turned her around by tugging on her collar, and she carefully kept her eyes down, in time to see his hand return to her breasts and tug each nipple, hard enough to hurt.

                Once he’d poured wine and oil on her naked chest and clamped her nipples, pushed her breasts together with his hands and fucked them, spilling himself on her neck and face. Then he’d made her fuck herself with their thickest dildo, and she’d come so hard she’d cried. The idea that he might have her do that again had liquid sticking to the insides of her thighs and sliding once more towards the floor.

                “I do like coming on your breasts, pet, but I’ve already done that, and you still need to be punished.” She inched closer, content to let him do whatever he wanted: she was on the odd edge of orgasm: far from climax, but too aroused to think, much less protest when he pinched her nipples with cruel nails. She could see him hard through his pants, belt still undone and hanging open, and the sight of that paired with his nails scoring patterns over her breasts had her moaning loudly, muffled by the gag, but still audible. Her hips thrust forward without her permission, knocking into his calf, and one hand slapped her ass almost reflexively. “Still a needy slut, I see,” Rum said. “That cock in your mouth not enough for you? Should I give you another slap on the cunt? Or is my little bitch too hot and bothered to mind that?” His left hand left her breasts and gripped her collar, pressing the leather against her throat and letting the cold metal of the tag brush her skin. His right hand continued tugging and twisting her nipples, drifting between each breast.

                Belle, mind half-adrift, remembered to not look up, and tried to still herself. She felt as though the part of her brain that did the thinking was already coming, but she had no relief, and she simply moaned, hoping her master would take pity on her.

                She always ended up like this, too far gone to think, and Rum lifted her chin so he could look at her eyes at last, lost but for him, and she couldn’t stop whining through her nose at the hungry, pleased look in his eyes. She’d pleased him, brought him pleasure, even if he wouldn’t give her hers, because she didn’t deserve it, and even that thought had her moaning, another line of moisture sliding down her inner thigh. Rum undid his trousers, pulled his boxers down to expose his cock, and the sight of it, flushed dark red and erect, made her twitch. Her dry mouth wasn’t even enough to distract her, not even the obstruction of the leather cock gag half-filling her mouth, when she tried to lick her lips.

                “Turn around, and get back on all fours, you bold thing,” he said, and she did, hearing him scoot to the edge of his chair. “Bitches get fucked from behind.” His hands caressed her ass, slid down to her thighs. “But I don’t see any reason to get out of this chair.” One arm wrapped under her thigh, lifted it—and her hips—into the air, and she was suddenly supporting herself on her lower arms and scrambling backwards as he forced her legs to slide past his hips, fold awkwardly against the back of the chair. She was trapped between his legs, his knees pressing her ribs, and he wasn’t really holding her up, leaving her to support most of her weight as blood rushed to her head and he slid inside.

                There was no resistance, and her overstimulated nerves were tingling immediately as he rocked up against her hips, then pressed the backs of her thighs to make her lift her hips up. His cock was finally inside her, and he set a fast, hard pace, making her whole body shake with every thrust, her arms tighten with the weight of it all.

                She was screaming against the gag, trying to form, “oh yes, please, yes, please, more:” only muffled nonsense came out, but she couldn’t stop. The first curls of orgasm were working through her, promising to shake her hard, and Rum’s cock, sliding in and out of her, slamming into her cunt while he pulled on her hair and called her a pathetic moaning slut, was driving them forward.

                She came hard enough that her arms gave out, screaming and shaking as waves shuddered through her body: her cunt clenched around his cock, and she distantly realized that he was shaking too, but she was still coming, hips jerking wildly as her fingers scrabbled in the carpet and her legs wrapped around Rum’s waist. She simply moaned into her gag, pretended it was Rum’s cock, and rode out wave after wave after wave of spine-curling bliss. It lasted long enough that she could feel Rum’s cock softening slightly inside her, and even that made her feel better, as she tried to breathe deeply through her nose, giving the last little twitches running through her cunt something to move against as the waves finally faded.

                Rum lifted her off him gently, eased her into a sitting position, at his feet, and unbuckled the gag. The rush of air was almost too much, and she shuddered, dizzy at suddenly being upright again. She swayed a little, and felt him stand behind her, move to the couch and snatch the blanket draped over the back. He had shed his trousers, opting to keep his boxers and wrinkled dress shirt, and he limped back to her to wrap the warm cotton around her shoulders. There was a bottle of water in his hand as well—he must have left it on the couch as well—and he slid down to sit next to Belle.

                “Drink a little water, sweetheart,” he said, lifting the bottle to her lips and tilting it ever so slightly. The feeling was heavenly against her dry mouth, and she sipped greedily while Rum rubbed her back. “I love you, Belle,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “You were fantastic, darling.” His fingers undid the buckle of the collar, and he placed it carefully on the chair and drew her into his arms. She did not quite feel up to speaking yet, but let him nudge her towards the couch, wrapping her fully in the blanket and letting her lean back against his chest while his hands played with her hair. Still muzzy, she sipped on the water bottle occasionally and let Rum pet and cuddle her, whispering how he loved her into her ears and drawing her slowly back towards herself.

                “Thank you,” she mumbled sleepily, after who knew how many minutes had passed. “I feel better about this week.” Rum kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulders once more.

                “Good, darling. You know I’ll take care of you.”

                “Can we have the radio on?” she inquired, and he laughed.

                “Of course, sweetheart.” The remote was on the coffee table, and she smiled as something she recognized as a sonata by Beethoven played.

                She could have drifted off to sleep in his arms, sticky and tired and a little sore, but he prodded her alert and said she should eat.

                “I’m going to get us some food, for right here. I’ll be back in a second.” The couch felt cold without him, but he was back in a moment as promised, with a container of leftover pasta salad, two forks, and some napkins. She didn’t have much of an appetite, but with Rum still stroking her back and pressing kisses to her cheeks and hands every other moment, it was easy to eat, and she realized her body had been hungry.

                She stood up to use the bathroom once, then rejoined Rum on the couch, pillowing her head on his chest and curling up under the blanket. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking his legs behind hers, and she fell asleep with his steady breath at her neck, safe and calm and warm and loved.


End file.
